in Scotland Yard and I had known him many years. So,
evidently, had Foulet, for his eyes flickered faintly with pleased
surprise at the sight of him. Brice came directly to our table. He was
bursting with victorious joy. I could feel it somehow, although his
face, carefully schooled to betray no emotion, was placid and casual.

All through the remainder of the meal I could feel the vibrations of
his excitement. But it was only at the very end that he confided
anything--and his confidence only served to make the excitement and
sense of impending thrill greater.

Just as he was rising to leave he shoved a tiny strip of paper across
the table to me with a sidelong glance at Foulet. "Another roof-top,"
I read scrawled in pencil. "If you like, meet me at the flying field
before dawn." If I liked! I shoved the paper across to Foulet who read
it and carelessly twisted it into a spill to light his cigar. But his
hand shook ever so slightly.

Needless to say we went to the flying field shortly after midnight.
Bruce was there, pacing up and down restlessly. Near him was a huge
tri-motored biplane, its motor humming in readiness.

"I've put a man on the trail in my place," Brice told us briefly.
"Somebody else is going to lose the scent on a roof-top--and I'm going
to watch."

* * * * *

We settled to our wait. To me it seemed absurdly hopeless. The flying
field was on a slight rise. Below us spread the dark shadow that was
Constantinople. There was no moon to give it form and substance--it
was just a lake of deeper darkness, a spreading mass of silent
roof-tops and minarets. How did Brice expect to see his quarry escape?
Suppose he fled during the night? And even with daylight--

The first streaks of dawn found us still waiting, our ears strained
for the hum of an airplane motor. But hardly had the golden rim of the
sun appeared over the horizon when it came. It came from the
east--straight out of the golden glory of the sun. Nearer and nearer
it came; an airplane--alone.

"It hasn't got the glider," muttered Foulet and his tone was tinged
with disappointment. But hardly had he spoken when, from one of the
myriad roof-tops below us, rose a swift streak of shadow. So fast it
flew, with such unbelievable speed, that to our eyes it was little
more than a blur; but--

"The glider!" Brice gasped. "My God! How did he do it?" We stared,
silent with amazement. The airplane, that only a second bef